


Or You Wouldn't Have Come Here

by TheScholarlyStrumpet (equipoise)



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Cursed Storybrooke, F/M, Gen, Rumbelle Family, black fairy curse, it's fluffy I swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-11-01 21:51:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10930737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/equipoise/pseuds/TheScholarlyStrumpet
Summary: Storybrooke is cursed by the Black Fairy. Gideon Gold knows his father is a man of many secrets but he has no memory of his mother except that she left. Gideon has no idea that she, too, lives in Storybrooke without memories of him.





	Or You Wouldn't Have Come Here

**Author's Note:**

> "How do you know I’m mad?" said Alice.  
> "You must be," said the Cat, "or you wouldn’t have come here.”

There was a young woman who lived in a shabby little house at the edge of town named Belle French. She was said to be very pretty, though few had ever seen her except in glimpses through her window. She never left her house, getting her groceries and all other supplies delivered weekly.

The only thing Gideon really knew about her was that she had a standing order at Gold and Son. Any time they got a new shipment of antique books, Papa would crate them over, personally. Gideon always offered to help – it seemed ridiculous to have a man his age carting around heavy boxes by himself. He’d already had one heart attack; he didn’t need another. Gideon, for all his contentious relationship with his father, couldn’t take seeing him in any kind of pain. But Gold Sr. always insisted on going alone, telling Gideon to mind the shop while he was away.

Gideon would wile away the hours cleaning, fixing gadgets, or keeping the books. For a small shop that barely stayed in business, they always seemed to have a lot of records to keep. Not that Papa ever needed them. He seemed to know every customer by heart. Years of being in the business, Gideon supposed.

It was not at all rare for Gideon to run the shop by himself. Papa got called away for other things besides book deliveries. He had some strange sort of business dealings with the Mayor, a dark-haired woman who always made Gideon uneasy. Just being in the room with her made his hackles rise, like an angry cat. He couldn’t explain it except to think that it was the way she always seemed to stop by at the oddest times, with cryptic requests for his father. She was nice to both Gold men but in an oily, scheming sort of way. Gideon didn’t trust her for a second and he wished his father wouldn’t do her bidding.

Papa clearly felt the same but he went when she called, anyway.  It confused the hell out of Gideon. His father was possibly the most feared man in town, people scrambled out of his way when he walked down the street. Townsfolk only sought out Mr. Gold when they were desperate to make a deal. It was a lonely life, at times, but Gideon was used to it by now. He just wished there wasn’t the long shadow of the Mayor, and whatever power she held, hanging over them all the time.

Papa wouldn’t tell him no matter how he asked. It had been cause for more than one raging row between them.

It was the day after one such fight that Papa was called away again by that horrible woman. Gideon was sulking and stomping around the shop when several large boxes were delivered. He signed for them quickly and took them to the back to tear them open. Estate sale – tons of gems hidden in piles of trash. Most of the clothes were decent quality and the fine china set was complete so it would fetch a good price. He’d filled a garbage bag and a half with the rest when he spotted a collection of books at the bottom. Old, weathered covers with the gilded letters partly faded or worn away. Not much for selling but, he thought, the mysterious Miss French might still be interested.

It was getting late and there was no sign of Papa so Gideon decided to close the shop early and head to the edge of town. Papa had the car but it wasn’t far to walk. There really wasn’t very much _town_ to Storybrooke. He arrived as the sun was setting, books in a bag slung over his shoulder.

The house was more run down than he remembered, paint peeling and siding weather-beaten. The shutters were tightly closed but there was a glimmer of light from under the door.

When he knocked, he heard a shuffling sound, then a pause.

“Who is it?” asked a timid voice.

“My name is Gideon.”

No response.

“Delivery from Gold and Son?” he tried again.

A corner of shutter peeled back and a pair of very blue eyes appeared, darting toward him. “Do I know you?”

“I, uh, I have your books.” He hefted the bag toward the window.

The eyes narrowed slightly until Gideon slowly reached into the bag and pulled out a dog-eared copy of Oliver Twist. Then they lit with recognition before disappearing again. He heard latches being pulled and locks clicking apart. The door opened slightly to reveal a very petite woman in a floral dress. She looked about ten years his senior and very pretty despite the tenseness in her shoulders and jaw, the obvious mistrust in her gaze.

“He didn’t call.”

“Sorry?” Gideon asked.

Belle frowned, looking him over and blinking rapidly. “Gold, your… I suppose he’d be your father, right?”

Gideon nodded.

“He usually calls when you’ve gotten more books in. I don’t even know how he got my number. But he’s been calling since…” her expression turned hazy and faraway for a moment. “He always calls first.” Her brow furrowed as her gaze snapped back into the present. “Where is Mr. Gold? He’s always brought them by, himself, in the past.” Those blue eyes went wide, her fingers twining together in front of her. “Is he alright?”

So, this explained why Belle French didn’t leave her house; she was clearly not ‘all there’ as the idiom went. Gideon wondered briefly if she might be dangerous but the very thought was absurd. In fact, he instinctively felt that if there was any danger lurking about, he’d be very tempted to protect tiny Miss Belle from it. There was something so nakedly vulnerable about her, something sweetly yearning in the way she asked about his father.

“He’s fine,” Gideon assured her, though with the Mayor, he couldn’t be sure he was telling the whole truth. Feeling the need to distract Belle with more pleasant topics, he handed her the bag. “I don’t know what he usually charges you but… here. We wouldn’t get much for them in the shop. So, they’re yours if you want them.”

Belle’s demeanor relaxed as she sifted through the contents of the bag. “Oh, these are lovely.” She smiled shyly as she looked up. “You _are_ your father’s son. Only a Gold could be this kind.”

Gideon bit back a snort of surprise. Kind was not a word usually associated with the Gold name. If she’d been any other citizen of Storybrooke, he’d have assumed she was being sarcastic but there wasn’t even a hint of cynicism in the warm smile she gave him.

It woke something in him, something deep down and buried. For just a moment, he had the absurd notion that he wanted to hug her. Gideon Gold was not a man given to hugging strangers. He barely hugged his own father. He suddenly thought he understood why his father enjoyed visiting with this odd but decidedly pleasant lady. Typical that Gold Sr. would keep her to himself, just another in a million unshared secrets that built the wall between.

“Gid?” said a familiar, low voice behind him.

Before Gideon could even turn, he saw Belle look past him, her whole face seeming to bloom like a flower.

“Mr. Gold,” she breathed.

Gideon turned to the side and crossed his arms, looking down his nose at his father. “Father,” he said, curtly.

The expressions flitting over his father’s face were going too fast to read, confusion shifting into something akin to fear before melting into a grim smile. “Son, you were supposed to be at the shop until 6, today.” It was an admonishment in word only, lip service to his loosely held position of authority.  

Gideon’s nostrils flared, hip jutting in a rebellious posture, but he said nothing.

Papa’s eyes were flicking back and forth between him and Belle so fast it was almost dizzying to observe. They finally settled on Belle, whose smile only grew, her eyes brighter than before. Papa’s face softened to a kind of tenderness Gideon couldn’t remember ever seeing, except perhaps in faded memories of his childhood.

“Hey Belle,” Gold greeted her, hands at his sides, his fingers closing and unclosing, like he was fighting the urge to reach for her.

“You came to see me,” Belle leaned against the doorframe, bag of books still in one hand.

“I did. I promised I would, didn’t I?” Papa spoke in a gentle tone, as though they were the only two people in the world. His eyes never left hers, hands still flexing at his sides. 

Gideon shifted uncomfortably and he finally realized what he was seeing. Papa was in love with the mad hermit woman. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or be even angrier that this was yet another thing his father has chosen not to share with him.

Belle seemed to become aware of Gideon beside his father, again, as she raised the bag of books. “Your son is such a darling. He brought me more to read! There are some of my favorites in here, too. He has a good eye.” She beamed up at him.

Gideon felt that odd pull again, an urge to rest his head on her knee as she read one of those books aloud in her clear, sweet voice. He grudgingly allowed himself to recognize that Papa certainly couldn’t have chosen a more likable madwoman to love. He shrugged. “You, uh, you enjoy them. Papa, I’m gonna head back to the shop. I still have some inventory to do.”

His father eyed him searchingly, mouth a thin line. Slowly, Papa nodded, “Of course, my boy. I’ll drive you.”

“You don’t have to. It’s not a long walk and you just got here. I’m sure you guys want to…. talk or...” Gideon tried not to think about whatever else the two of them might do when he wasn’t around. 

Papa’s smile faded completely then, that deep sadness that always seemed to plague him settling into his gaze. His voice was slightly hoarse when he spoke. “Actually, it’s getting late and I know Miss Belle must be exhausted by now.”

As if on cue, Belle yawned widely. “You’re right, Mr. Gold. I’m so sorry, gentlemen. This was an awful lot of excitement for me in just one day.” She blushed, embarrassed, as she looked at Gideon and then his father. “I don’t talk to many people these days,” she explained to the former, the latter already nodding in understanding. A similar sadness in her eyes echoed his father’s gaze but it was murkier, buried even deeper and mixed with something else he couldn’t quite read. It hurt his head to try and understand.

“Good night, Belle,” Gold said, inclining his head in what almost looked like a bow.

Belle rallied one last smile, and offered a little curtsy. “Good night, Mr. Gold. And Gideon. Don’t be a stranger, alright?”

Gideon found a smile pulling at the corners of his lips. “I won’t, Miss Belle.”

She shut the door and clicked all the locks back into place. Gideon led the way to the car lost in thought, his father trailing behind him. When they were buckled into their seats, Gold’s hand on the gear shift, he turned to his son.

“You… must have questions.”

Gideon turned to look at his father, the familiar worry lines of his face drawn and tense, the knuckles of his hand white as they gripped the gear shift. And for just a moment, it felt like everything was falling into place, like pieces of a puzzle he carried at the back of his mind were shifting to fit exactly where they should. Then the moment passed and they were just a father and son discussing the woman his father loved. 

Gideon knew nothing of his birth mother, only that she’d left when he was a baby and his father – though he never spoke ill of the woman - had been a broken man ever since.  But around Belle, Gold Sr. didn’t seem so broken. In fact, he looked happier than Gideon could ever remember seeing him.

Who was Gideon to deny him that?

He shook his head slowly. “No, I don’t think I do. Not this time.” He put a hand over his father’s. “She’s really very sweet, isn’t she?”

Papa took a sharp breath, a tremulous smile shaping his lips, a glint of silver at the corners of his eyes. “Aye son, that she is.”

They drove home in companionable silence.


End file.
